//------------------------------// // Silverstream III // Story: A Journey in Griffonstone // by RangerOfRhudaur //------------------------------// Mom's quiet, frantic prayers filled their cabin, the only noise their guard would allow. Not that any of them were testing that; Silverstream had barely spoken, barely dared to breathe, since the captain had sent them below deck, while all Dad's words were silent, sent through heartbeats and gentle embraces to his beloved. Over in the corner, Terramar slumped, looking at his family with the saddest look of sympathy Silverstream had ever seen. He clearly wanted to try to comfort them, but the past had shown that, for all his talents, he wasn't a consoler; any comfort he tried to provide proved thin, weak, and cold. It was as if there was an ocean between him and his family, an ocean that even a brave heart like his couldn't cross. She shivered, the phantom feeling of the drowned Man's hand still haunting her leg. The Sea might have been Aris' ally, but that didn't mean all of its children were. Stories were told of the Beckoners, Men who drowned but didn't die, instead being filled with the overwhelming spirit of water and trying to fill their brethren with it in turn. But it had been no Beckoner that attacked her; all the stories said that they were dangerous, but in a different way, a subtler way. They were fair, enchanting, beckoning others to their doom instead of forcing them. And no Man, no matter how long drowned, could have been so cold and still alive. ...despite the ... water... No, the thing that had attacked her wasn't a child of the Sea; it was a child of Death, of the Keeper of the Irresistible Gate. One's body was only a stage of one's life, like a butterfly's chrysalis, and Death brought that stage to a close at the last breath, but sometimes, if one's duty, injustice, or suffering were heavy enough, the full closure of that stage could be delayed. It would make sense; she could almost feel the weight of the suffering Gemerelli had endured, groaning down onto her shoulders... Wait, that was just her dad's hand, and the smile he sent her way. She gave him one back, though it was weak. Whatever talents in consolation Terramar lacked, her dad more than made up for; he was their rock, the person the waves of their emotions could beat themselves into silence against, unmoving, unyielding, never letting go of them or ceasing to try to draw their suffering out like the poison it was. Any time she or Mom needed to cry (Mom needed to a lot) he was there for them, sheltering them in his arms, rocking their tears out, and whispering that it would all be okay. The ship groaned. Mom echoed that groan for a moment, before returning to her prayers, even more fervently than before. Poor Mom. She was so caring, so full of love, and the world seemed to be trying its hardest to squeeze as much of it out of her as it could. She tried to make the world happy, always acting with kindness, grace, and care, and the world sucked it up like a whirlpool and pressed her for more. The soft songs that were Silverstream's first memories, the hands that so tenderly held her own as they walked the beach, the quiet poetry of love that her mother was so well-versed in, all were callously swallowed up by a void of pitch. It wasn't the place of mere mortals like Silverstream to ask the Pantheon why they did the things they did, but the suffering Mom endured, seemingly without celestial relief, made it hard for her to remember that sometimes. A knock came at the door. Their guard's sword flashed in his hand, and he murmured a question to the knocker in a rolling, trilling tongue Silverstream didn't know. A reply in the same language came, and was answered with another question. When this found an answer, their guard nodded, moved the stacked furniture from behind the door, then opened it. The captain, flanked by two others of her crew, nodded at him, then walked in. Her eyes softened as she saw the state of her guests, huddled together in fear and grief. Gently striding over, whispering a brief word of comfort to Silverstream, she then knelt down next to Mom and murmured, "Mrs. Flow, we've arrived. You're safe, now." "Oh, thank Iphen," Mom sighed in relief. "And thank you, captain, and not just for the ride; if it hadn't been for you, Silverstream..." "Don't dwell on the path untaken," the captain reassured her. "The kid's safe, that's what matters. Don't worry about what might have happened; it didn't." "Yes," Mom pressed as she began getting up, "thanks to you. You will be rewarded for this, captain, I promise you." The captain chuckled, shaking her head, then gestured for them to follow her. They eagerly did so, Mom taking Silverstream's hand in a grip of iron while Terramar glumly trotted at her heels, Dad bringing up the rear. Silverstream winced, both at the tightness of her mom's grip and at the reminder of how distraught she'd been when she'd heard what had happened. She'd almost engulfed her daughter in a weepy embrace, only being stayed by the soothing words of her husband, and even that had only weakened the strength of her tears and arms. It took Silverstream herself reassuring her that she was fine for her to stop crying, her sorrow turning into energy that fed her prayers. Judging by the white-knuckled hand around her own, there was still some left to burn, something Silverstream understood; Dad, their rock, was clearly upset at what had happened, even if he didn't show it as openly as his mate or his daughter did, how could the palace that was Mom not be? If a foundation shook, the tower on top of it would quake. "I should've been the one to help you," Terramar's grumble dragged her out of her thoughts. "I'm your brother, I should be the one who keeps you safe. But Mom... She was feeling so bad..." "It's okay," she whispered back. "I understand." Terramar knew how much leaving to join the Anchor Watch had upset Mom, so whenever he was around he tried to make up for it. If Mom was in trouble, like when she was on a ship, Silverstream couldn't imagine him leaving her side. "You shouldn't have to," he pouted. "I should've been there for you." "Remember what the captain said," she replied, softly smiling. "Don't dwell on the past; the important thing is that we're all okay." Casualties.:.. "I won't dwell on it," Terramar said, staring at her with eyes almost made of earnestness, "but I won't forget it, either." The Sun had yet to rise when they stepped out on deck, leaving the city before them cloaked in twilight. But that cloak suited the city well, at least to Silverstream's eyes; the muted, dusky palette made the place look, feel, older, more mature, a feeling very well-suited for one of the oldest cities in the world. In the twilight, she could imagine countless other eyes looking at the city with her; the Gledes who'd first settled it, the Briezin who'd first introduced it to Homestria, the Homestrians who came to buy and sell and learn the wisdom of ages and the moment, all of them had seen the twilight stones she saw now, all of them had seen the Queen of Cities holding court, however bare or lavish that court might have been when they saw it. In the twilight, she saw the roots which the daylight obscured, digging down, down, down into the past, anchoring Griffonstone until it stood like a mountain, immovable and unyielding. Griffonstone's trunk - the Tree, the House of Otto, the houses and shops and streets - was impressive, but in the twilight, it was the roots that held her attention. Until Dad cleared his throat and nodded at the soldiers standing by the gangplank, that is. Then, the faceless helms, glistering plates, bright mail, and shining swords of their escort took it, especially the last point. Mount Aris wasn't, strictly speaking, a Homestrian kingdom, but she'd been a practitioner of their nonlethal methods of warfare for thousands of years, ever since the Cold Age; their escorts' swords, shining even in the dim light with their razor edges, were a reminder that not all did so, that there were some who fought to destroy their enemies, not just their power. She knew that they had their reasons, that sometimes the only way to destroy an enemy's power was to destroy them, but knowledge wasn't understanding, and a culture where valor was found as much in foes slain as allies protected or saved was so strange to her that she doubted she'd ever obtain understanding. She would have to trust her parents, trusting their trust in the faceless swords before her, and be content with that. "Honored guests," one of their escort bowed, "you have come well." "You have received us well," Dad replied, almost a sigh of relief. A few voices muttered from the docks, scattered early risers gathering to gawk at the ship and those aboard. Even in the dim light, Allegiance's emerald-traced hull would be recognizable to anyone who knew the stories of the Sea. "Does Queen Novo send her regards?" another one of the escort asked, glancing mindfully at the shore. "No," Dad smiled back. "She sends her sister and her sister's stuffy husband." The soldier nodded, then looked at Silverstream. "And their little girl, too," they murmured, almost too softly to hear. Then, turning to her parents, they said, "Please, come with us. Don't worry, we'll make sure to bring you your bags later." Dad nodded, then turned back to the captain. "Thank you for your services, captain," he said. "Thank you for everything. Thank you for-" He choked up as he glanced at Silverstream out of the corner of his eye, then whispered, "We are in your debt." "Don't worry," she softly replied, putting a hand on his shoulder in comfort. "I was just doing my duty. All I ask is that you do your's." Dad nodded again, then took a deep breath, recomposing himself. Once he did, he wrapped his hand around his wife's, and began leading his family to shore, the escort forming a protective ring around them as they approached. Surrounded by a ring of steel, they stepped into Griffonstone.